Family Before Connor
by Jacks
Summary: Derek Centric. Allison/Derek to John/Cameron, it's an exploration of the past life of Cameron and Derek  with Connor as their savior  into the future lives of John and Cameron with Derek's deep manifest loathing for Cameron. R
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes:

This is a Allison/Derek to Derek (loathing and loving) Cameron with John/Cameron at the end. Woo, love triangles. I guess there's going to be a lot (in theory) about the Derek/John relationship. ... :D it's not done, but it will be soon? Read/Review (^_^), please?

Apologies for the repost, it turns out I'm stupid as hell and this interface makes no sense to me, despite my years of computer science training. Whatever.

* * *

Derek didn't remember where exactly they met up with her, but she said she came from the South. Refugees were like that, appearing at the strangest times with nothing useful on them, seeking some kind of asylum from the big bad metal coming twenty yards behind them. He wasn't actually on that recon, he hadn't actually seen the metal, or the fear in her eyes when she was begging—cause everyone begs, he had just met her shortly after.

Refugees, some really dumb humans, thought the way out of their hell was to become Skynet's pets, and that's why they started interrogating the ones they didn't know. They could have trackers, they could be feeding information back, being human didn't mean you weren't selfish and stupid and in denial.

Derek didn't want this job, but Derek didn't want Kyle doing it either, and it seemed that John Connor was convinced that Kyle or Derek were his only point men, and should be the only ones trusted. How about that, let's trust a fourteen year old kid and his twenty-one year old brother? The leader of the human resistance was a fucking kid too- but he knew so much about the metal, about the techniques, Derek had heard rumors from other punks that John Connor himself was actually metal, some disgruntled piece of machinery gone awry, getting revenge on its overlords by giving the humans a fighting chance.

That rumor required too much faith—machines don't get disgruntled, machines don't seek revenge, right? He didn't give too much thought to it.

He raised his eyes to look at her, and she gave a soft smile to him.

"Name?" He asked, staring down his torn scrap of paper for the event. John wanted a list of all of them, everyone in and out of the rebellion.

"Allison Young" She tried to catch eye contact, but Derek looked through her, searching for her fear and weakness and desperation.

"How old are you, Allison?"

"Seventeen."

She didn't have any metal on her. She had absolutely nothing but painful memories and the like. She was as docile as every other survivor, refugee, whatever the hell they were. She just didn't want to die alone.

He told her where she could sleep, told her that her loyalty was to John Connor, the leader of the humans, and that the day she forgot that was the day she found herself praying the metal caught her and dismembered her before he could. He told her that if she got sick, it would be better for everyone if she just choose to die alone, rather than infect everyone else. He told her if she was caught by the metal, she'd die alone.

She seemed to understand.

.

.

Weeks went by, and she stayed away, like most of the scared did. That was good, by Derek's books, as the ones who tried to make friends were never safe. They wanted glory, or information, or a bigger piece than they could chew and it always ended poorly. Things kept moving, like things were liable to do. Pieces, people, whatever kept moving on John Connor's gigantic chess board.

One night not so long later, word came down from on high to Kyle, that they had a person of interest among them. It was Derek's job to find her, grab her from her room and take her somewhere until John could be by. They didn't know why she was on his list of persons of interest, and Derek didn't know what John even knew. All they knew was that John needed to talk to her, and he'd be a week at most.

"You sure about this, Kyle?" Derek asked a final time as Kyle shown the flashlight on the door.

Kyle nodded "I'm sure John Connor wants to talk to her. I don't know why."

Derek nodded and they opened the door, and the people responded, and she came willingly.

There was protocol about this sort of event. You held them, locked up, as though they were a wannabe impression of metal. The real thing would have killed you when you took it into a cell, but the liars and the pathetic mess of betrayers, they just sobbed. Sometimes John's people of interest were good, weapons designers and the like, but more often they were being held to beg and plead and then be executed.

It seemed fucking stupid; at a time like this when there are way too few humans alive, to be killing more. Some whispered that John didn't know shit, that he was working for Skynet to destroy humans from the inside out.

.

.

They took turns on watch. Sometimes people tried to escape, there was order and protocol that had to be followed.

"Look at her" Kyle said to him, staring into her holding area. "We don't have to treat her like she's a murderer, maybe she's good. Maybe John knows she'll help win the war."

Derek shook his head. "Have you been going to Church, Kyle? Is that where all this optimism is coming from?"

"Dude, look at her." Derek did. Derek saw a beautiful young girl, wearing unwashed and dirty clothing who told him, earnestly, that she didn't want to die alone. Her brown hair that was limp from the disgusting place they lived in and the grey of her body from the lack of sun and nutrition matched the somber expression on her face. He saw a girl he could destroy in under a minute if she decided to step out of line while he appeased his brother.

"Alright I'll talk to her." He conceded to his brother.

"She likes to dance, so talk to her about dancing. Before D-Day, she danced, she was young, yeah, but she danced." Kyle looked smug a moment, then noticed his brother's facial expression. "Dude, I talked to her yesterday."

"Did you tell John you talked to his POI?"

"No, I haven't gotten a hold of Connor since he said he was coming down."

Derek shook his head and opened and shut the door behind him. She looked up, attempting to smile at the presence of company, but instead looking only more depressingly abandoned. Derek sat in the metal chair and she sat on the ground. He cleared his throat, looking at the door again, and waited as silence followed.

"So Kyle said you liked to dance." The awkward placement of the conversation caused her to laugh.

"If I dance well enough, are you gonna let me live? Is that the game you play?" She looked around the room, her face filled with bitterness. "Is that what you do to people? Let them in, tell them they'll be safe here, and then make them dance—ask for all kinds of favors, so they can stay in this dilapidated paradise?"

"Look, sweetheart, I'm just trying to be nice here. You're in here because John Connor said you should be in here. And until that changes, I'll keep you in here. The first thing I asked you, after your name and age, is if you were loyal to Connor. He wants you in here, end of story."

"I didn't do anything wrong! You have to believe me, I didn't do anything wrong." She started to beg, and Derek didn't like this. The tears filled in her eyes, they glided down her face and Derek disliked them even more.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" He said, softly, reaching out to grab her hand. "As soon as Connor's here, everything's gonna be all sorted out."

Her name was Allison Young, she reminded him. She was born 2 hours south of where he was born, before Judgement Day. She danced, recreationally, when the sun still shone and people couldn't remember watching the skin peel off their best friends as they burned.

She knew how to fire a handgun, and load it, and clean it. She was militia worthy. She loved movies. She watched her mother fry on Judgement Day and she lived because of the quality craftsmanship of their home. She was living with one of her deceased neighbor's friends when the T-888 made itself known and put a bullet through one of his major organs. She had ran, she had hidden, she didn't see, but she knew what a sound a wet bullet could make.

She had run to LA because that's where she thought people were. She had gotten tangled into a confrontation, and someone had offered her cover fire while she ran into their transport. That someone didn't live.

Derek heard all of this, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't usually talk to people in her position. He was usually one of the ones who did the honor of watching John put a bullet between her eyes.

.

.

Connor came a day later. He looked like hell and Kyle greeted him upon arrival. He wanted to see her, now, and Kyle took him to where Derek was watching her. He didn't take time, and upon seeing her he froze up. Meeting her was like he was finally quelling the fantasies he held as a 15 year old boy. Cameron didn't have a soul and Cameron never would, but that didn't stop John from waiting and anticipating the day he would finally meet Allison—and there she was. It also didn't stop John from knowing that her purpose wasn't in her life, but in the cyborg that would kill her.

He moved to hug her, but stopped himself awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize they'd misinterpret my interest in you" He shook his head, and she took a step back from him, her face showing a deep scowl. "I'm not going to kill you, I know you're not a traitor." He looked away and then back at her, inhaling air deeply. She grasped her hands against her arms.

John turned to Derek and Kyle as they watched. "She doesn't die, do you hear me?" He seemed to get frustrated for a moment, his hands latched onto his opposite wrists. "Just, she's important." Derek and Kyle nodded. He wiped his hands on his trousers and held out his right one for her to shake. "My name is John Connor," He smiled. "And you're Alison Young."

Connor left after a few days, but he took Kyle with him. Derek found himself alone with the mission of keeping a seventeen year old girl alive. He asked Connor if the machines were going to be looking for her, and he said not yet.

"Wait long enough, especially in this world; you can't make sure anybody doesn't die, Connor." Derek told him, later.

"When she's been alive long enough, I'll tell you. Until then, you fucking breathe, bleed, anything for her, do I make myself clear?"

And Derek accepted that answer.

Nobody bothered to explain to Alison why anyone cares, or why she was being held, or why Connor classified her as a person of interest. But she had heard and understood that she was still of interest. They ate together, she and Derek did. Derek had told her it was because she was still of interest, and since she had to be alive for a while, he might as well make a friend.

.

.

Conditions got worse. Food got scarcer, the roof shook a lot more. A bunch of kids went out to check on a nearby factory and they didn't come back. She told him she didn't like being alone.

"I've always had my brother" He said. "I can't really relate."

"Well he's not here right now." She said, sadly. "And I don't have a brother." She smiled mischievously. "Do you want to pretend to be my brother, while yours is gone?"

"No." He replied, a little too quickly. She tilted her head to the side and smiled.

"I wouldn't want you to be my brother, either."

"They say, we're all family now, those of us who are left, alive, we're all we've got, and for all it matters we're family." Derek shook his head.

" You don't agree?" She asked quietly.

"No, no I don't."

"Why not?" She asked, looking away and then back at him.

"Because family comes before Connor, and that means Kyle, not everyone else alive in this hell hole." He seemed a little appalled at himself for saying it. He exhaled loudly. "I didn't say that."

"But you did." She smiled. "It makes sense. I don't like to think that Connor wouldn't agree. Blood is blood. You're lucky. Your brother's still alive, be thankful."

.

.

It was a few weeks before the break in. A T-888 ripped through with his automatic rifle and made minced meat of the barracks. Derek followed orders, and while the base captain screamed at anyone who could listen to put a frag through that metal hunk of garbage, he ran through, looking for Allison.

She was in one of the barracks, clutching her handgun tightly, the room empty since everyone else had run.

"Allison." He barked, and she looked back at him. Her brown eyes met his and she smiled a little bit, though her terror broke free through her facial expressions quickly. "You get behind me, Connor said you don't get to die today." And she nodded, and followed, her body a foot behind his. He held his arm out to the side, guiding her to stay behind him.

She raised her handgun, two hands on the petite item, as though it would save her from the metal that came through. Derek held his automatic loosely, before opening the door and placing both hands on it, ready for the metal that was going to be there.

It wasn't there. Someone had fragged it, eighteen people died and the base was officially no longer safe. Men spent hours pulling cables and destroying power grids while everyone else panicked or left.

"We're leaving." Derek told her. "Word came down from on high; Connor wants me to get you to him." He shook his head. "Have you been like—keeping secrets? Is there any way you're a military asset?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"You'd know if you were." He replied harshly.

Allison shook her head. "I suppose I would."

"We're leaving tonight. We're heading North. Get your stuff ready."

She nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek never imagined what another world would have been like. Some kids did, they sat around and exchanged hollow memories of birthday parties and toys and so much food they had to throw it away. At the end they all said to each other, imagine, if Skynet had never happened. Derek never had time for that, or cared for that, and when Allison started doing it, he felt a lurch in his stomach.

"Well they did. Skynet came in, and killed everyone you've ever loved, and no amount of wishing is ever going to change that." He shook his head. "It's fucking stupid to think you'll find comfort in the past."

Allison looked a little shocked as he said it, and slowly she moved her hands to smooth out her shirt. They had been sitting, still migrating North, but mostly during the day. It was stupid to believe that the time of day they moved would make sense, but protocol dictated you stopped at sunset and started at sun-up, not that it was always easy to tell the difference between the two.

The rest of the camp had gone elsewhere. They set traps and destroyed everything useful and went East, it sounded like.

"Well, you'll have to forgive me for trying." She shuffled awkwardly. "Today we didn't die, hurrah. We trudged through miles of shit and the destroyed remains of lives we used to have. Tomorrow we'll do the same thing, only who knows if we're going to live. And then, even if we do live, we have to worry about the next day." She laughed, harshly, awkwardly. "Thank God I'm not dead. I don't know what death's like, but it can't be as wonderful as this place."

She stared him down and he cleared his throat. "I liked ice cream, and teaching my brother to play baseball. I wasn't too great at it, myself, but at least when I was teaching Kyle, well I felt like I was better at it." He stared at her stoically, waiting for her to react, laugh, join in, or something. Silence.

"I'm sorry. " He said, coolly. "Just trying to pass the time, you know." He nodded, and she sighed.

I'm just trying to pretend there's purpose in all of this. You're lucky—you've got Kyle to be strong for." She said bluntly. "There's nothing that's shielding me from staring down the truth and cowering in fear." Her hands curled and uncurled and she began to absently play with her hair.

Derek sighed. "Yeah, I am lucky." He felt guilt for having a brother. He felt guilt that she had lost so much, and that he still had his brother. He felt guilt that he didn't know what he could tell her to make it right. He felt guilt that he didn't feel obligated to make it right. "Get some sleep. You've got a purpose, Connor knows it. We just don't yet."

"Is he ever wrong?"

"No." Derek replied, feeling indecision in his voice. "Not yet, anyway."

She curled up in disdain and obvious emptiness and he felt awkward. He looked at her, the trail of her spine through her clothes. It was awkward, he wasn't around many women. Her vulnerability placed the kind of instinctual protective urges that he liked to pretend died with the machines directly into the forefront of his mind.

"Get over here." He said, his voice a little harsh. She turned to look at him confused, but complied, as he had the guns nearest him. "Sit down next to me." She did. "Lay down, put your head in my lap."

She gave him a long cold stare.

"I thought—"

He shook his head "Just do it." She complied. He ran his hands through her hair, touching her hairline and holding her head, softly. Initially she didn't seem to appreciate the contact, her eyes moving rapidly across the area, looking at his face, not looking at his face, and then eventually she closed her eyes and smiled a little bit.

"There are a lot of reasons not to want to die." His voice was soft and careful and his hands were large and felt out of place against her petite head. "Not wanting the machines to win, that's one." He cleared his throat. "For the good of mankind, for the hope of making a normal life, for the bragging rights, when this is all over, and you have kids and they all whine too much, you can tell them to shut the hell up, because when you were their age…" He chuckled until it died in his throat and there was silence again. "There's the other truth which is that if you die, you're doing exactly what they want. Connor could be wrong, but there are still a lot of reasons for you to want to live." He grabbed the soft curls of her hair and began slowly splaying them across his lap. "Plus, you could be a hot commodity around these parts. Most ladies don't still have this kind of hair, or your age, or your innocence. Most of the people who lived saw a lot of death before and after Judgment Day."

She opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows slightly. "You're really going to convince me I'm too pretty to die? I hear its one-hundred-percent effective against T-800's."

"I never said you were pretty, I said your hair was pretty."

She exhaled a small chuckle and closed her eyes. "I bet the ladies love you." The soft smile broadened. "You're mister awful when everyone's watching, and then you go and call some girls hair pretty."

"I gotta keep my charms, for when we win this." He replied. She nodded, smiling briefly, her eyes still closed.

He continued to play with her hair in his hands as she fell asleep. His hands were coated in the layers of dust and grime, but he didn't care and instead focused on her soft, thoughtless smile, relishing in the idea that this was what made humans different from the machines—concern, intimacy, friendship. There was no reason for him to be nice to her, and yet he was. No machine would do that.

.

.

They got North quicker than Derek had planned on. She was pretty good at moving and keeping her eyes peeled. What's better than that, they were lucky. Where they should have faced destruction, they didn't. The path was clear, and when it wasn't they were able to mitigate it through quick planning and delicate movement.

Connor wasn't there. Connor hadn't been there in months, though he was supposed to have been there days ago with Kyle. Local base staff said they weren't ready to call in preliminary measures in case of Connor's capture, but that it was the next step.

Derek didn't show concern, but he paced when he wasn't conscious of what he was doing. Allison wrung her hands, not because of her worry for the leader of the rebellion, but for Kyle, who she had shared more than a few sentences with.

"He's quick, Kyle is." Derek told her over supper. "Kyle won't get caught, he'll shoot his way out cause he's a crazy motherfucker. Metal don't scare him. He's two steps beyond the point of sanity."

She nodded. "I'm not worried if you're not."

"I'm worried." He admitted.

.

.

He had friends from before, from his previous stay, and they stayed up late together and shared drinks and scars and stories left to them by the ones the metal took with them. Bootlegging was a national pastime, and though the liquor tasted like it was from a bathtub, they drank it quickly, toasting the good men and the good times.

"Remember Rogers?" One of them asked, and Derek nodded. "Fine son of a bitch."

"Do you remember the way you ripped his face open when he took a swing at your little bro?"

Derek laughed. "Of course I do, I still have the scar from his teeth." He made a fist and pointed at a fine line across the top of his hands.

They all laughed for a moment until someone asked what had happened to that guy, and Derek told them he got his innards ripped out by a T-whatever while screaming for Mother Mary.

"How about those ladies?" One boy asked, quietly. "Sure love those ladies, the ones that Mom and Dad said never to impregnate on the first date." He laughed. "Like that's a fucking problem? Now that a nuke's gone off? We're all fucking sterile."

"That's probably the only upside to all of this." And they all agreed and laughed.

"And all the ladies, they're all so desperate, everybody just wants to be loved. Nobody turns you down anymore."

And no one disagreed. Derek thought of the last time he was with a woman, and he wondered briefly if everyone from the old base had found their way East. He wondered if he was really infertile, and he wondered, if he wasn't, if he would ever be fortunate enough to find out. You didn't see pregnant women around much, they moved too slow, like waddling ducks, and the heartless models of machinery had figured out long ago that they were an easy target. You didn't leave a pregnant woman behind, but if you wanted to live, you had to. She wouldn't run, she'd waddle.

"It'll be different, when Connor wins the war." Derek told them evenly. "We'll all be fucking pioneers, molding the land beneath us, ruling all we can see, knowing we stopped the machines, and that we're better than that which we created."

The man next to Derek laughed, and slapped him hard across the back. "Shit Derek, your tolerance went to hell, you're plastered. Connor's dead. He and your brother been missing for more than a week. There's no war to be won, anymore."

Derek excused himself and staggered off, upset.

.

.

She was dancing when he came in. She was dancing classical ballet to the softest sounds a stereo made in disgusting remnants of once beautiful clothing. He didn't care. He wrapped his arms around her, wordlessly, and she froze a moment before turning to face him, her eyes searching, his warm body wanting.

There were no words between them, the stereo playing as he kissed her, pushed her onto her bed, and loved her. His hands ran across her back, through her hair, and she stayed strong for the both of them, trying not to show that she understood that he had given up hope that Kyle was alive; that Kyle wasn't alive; that people didn't come back after being missing a week.

And finally, when he was curled into her arms and slowly weeping, she whispered "Hurrah, today we didn't die."

.

.

She was nervous around Derek, at first. She didn't know if he was drunk, and was merely following his first instincts to find her, or if he was acting on something he had quelled all along, a soft whispering feeling that his pride and his duty to his brother prevented. He wasn't much help in determining the solution to this.

She danced when he left her alone, and when they were together, she spoke quietly and in such vagueness that Derek knew he had done something wrong.

"Did I hurt you?" He finally asked, after her short comments became too blunt and painful.

"Did we do something you didn't mean for?" She replied, lowering her head to look at the garbage and lifting her eyes to him.

"No." He replied, calmly, hoping she was referring to their night. She nodded.

"Do you think less of me?" She whispered.

"No." He replied, his voice barely carrying over across the small table.

"Then I don't get it." She said quietly. "You haven't said a word about it." She clarified, raising her eyes imploringly, and then looking away, eyes resting downward.

He opened his mouth and then firmly closed it, thinking better of saying his initial curt thoughts. He looked worn and tired. "I don't know what to do without Kyle to be strong for. It all seems so…meaningless. You breathe now, you won't later. You live today, no guarantees about tomorrow. I need to be strong for someone, it might as well be you."

She reached out and took his hand across the table and whispered nothing, her face contorted in a sad, thankful smile.

.

.

It had been months, but the rumor mill lit up that Kyle and Connor had been seen, and Derek volunteered for a rescue mission. They had been seen traveling in the South, escapee's of their camp said they were the ones who freed them. Allison came with, Derek intent on keeping his promise to Connor, and Allison intent on helping to save Kyle.

They suited up in whatever body armor was found across the base and carried M4's. Allison's gun was about as large as her arm, and no one failed to make fun of her for it. They traveled on foot, ignoring the dust as they trudged, hopeful that Connor was alive.

It was twenty miles when they encountered him. He dropped his gun and ran towards her and hugged her, again, and everyone stared.

"Connor, sir, thank God." The rescue party announced, but Derek watched with careful eyes and Allison meekly smiled.

"Where's Kyle?" Derek asked and Connor took a step away from Allison.

He pointed behind him to the limping boy. "We need to get back. Skynet's advancing; this isn't how it was supposed to be." He said, his voice a little frantic. "Everything's going to be fine, we just need to get to somewhere save." He had a manner of speaking, of calming everyone who would listen. Derek carried Kyle on his back and told him if he ever did that again, Derek would join the machines to lobby for Kyle's well being. Kyle told him it'd be okay, that John Connor had a plan.

.

.

Author's Notes:

Thanks for the Reviews, I'm happy to say this is coming out rather quickly. I'm a big summary writer, as you can tell, and so far, so good. This fandom seems hella quiet, but uhh, maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places, or maybe I've simply missed the bus. Anyway, sorry for coping out with the dancing, but I really believed that was why Derek seemed so upset at the end, and it was a big motivator for me to write this.

Hopefully the formatting change helps you if the old chapter was confusing.


End file.
